This is probably the most ridiculous number of major releases anyone could have available in a few months’ span.
Yeah, it's been amazing. Basically, the last two and a half years of my life were just Aminé, Bon Iver, and Lorde. It's funny how I'll put my head down, and then there's a three-month period where they all come out!
We work on some records so long before they come out.
So long. It's amazing to have it all come at a similar time. I feel it's a real sonic insight into me or something. After these records, I've taken a breather for a second. I've been getting my new studio up and running, and there are a lot of random things I'm finishing.
It's been interesting to listen to these records and think about, "What's Jim's involvement here?"
Yeah.
One of the things you've said before is focusing on single vocals. I would say that's definitely not the trend of things I get sent to mix lately. If it's more in the pop vein at all, it includes three, four, five, or six lead vocals.
Thinking about the Bon Iver record and the Lorde record, there were different moments where we definitely did stack the vocals a lot more. But there was a common thread that Justin [Vernon, singer and founder of Bon Iver] and I tapped into, and Ella [Ella Marija Lani Yelich-O'Connor, aka Lorde] and I also tapped into, just how personal a lot of these records are, and making those direct, mono, and in your face. I remember there are even moments we had with Justin on "S P E Y S I D E," where he's developed an incredible vocal tracking language and all that, and he often will have two leads essentially panned. But there is this thing on " S P E Y S I D E " that was happening where I went, "Man, it's incredible. It's sounding great. But there's something that's not quite coming together. I want to just hear you right there." There's so much ache in the song. It's so real. It's so minimal. It's so palpable. "Let's own it."
And do you have to help build up the trust, or the trust in that idea?
Yeah. I work very hard to build up a personal rapport with the people I work with, so they know that all I care about is their vision and bringing that to life as they see fit. That they know if I'm saying, "I think we should try it this way," it's in service of them, not because I want it to sound fatter, or more pop, or whatever it may be. But Justin and I are so close at this point. In that moment he could let any guards down he may have had up about things and say, "Oh, this is the way I do it; I should always do it this way." Our process was so open that he was open to trying things. We did it that way, and it felt good and right.
Maybe, in the current world, sometimes we've got to throw away the George Martin idea of the role of the producer. Do you think that's an inherent change that we've seen in the way music is created now, because it can be one on one or a couple of people? It's not like we have to hire a drum set, a drummer, and a studio just to get a beat for a song.
It always, first and foremost, depends on the artist and what they want, as well as how comfortable
they're tracking down. When I say, "Tracking down," I don't mean literally recording, but going to get an idea. Sometimes they need to do that alone, and they write a song alone, and they just need help tracking and arranging. A lot of artists – at least the ones I work with – do need a true creative partner to help realize the vision, but also to help nurture and build it in ways. In other words, a lot of artists actually need a non-technical hand at points, whereas in years past it may have been, "Here's 12 songs we wrote. We booked two weeks at a studio. Let's track it." Obviously, there's a place for that too. There's a place for it all. It's maybe become a bit more fluid now.
I see more and more of this concept of not going in saying, "I have to co-write."
Yeah. Never.
But instead, "I'm here to reinforce what the artist is doing." That can be far more in depth than how a lot of people ran the process in the past.
Yeah. For Justin's record, he's one of the great American songwriters. There are a handful of songs where he needed zero help writing and just did it on his own. But, at other points, we fostered such a special environment of openness, lightness, and warmth that our being in the same room together, making a drum beat and diddling around on a sampler, actually provided the canvas for us together to write an amazing song. It depends.
As a song is being written and you're capturing ideas, how much of that stays in the mix? Are you looking for the core of the song? I know it's probably always a moving target, right?
Sure. But there are definitely trends. There are certain songs on Justin's record where – "If Only I Could Wait" comes to mind, or "Walk Home" – those are two songs we did where, in writing those songs and making those demos, we had everything right there. We enhanced, we layered, we maybe chopped a few bars here and there. But it all came together.
Sonically developed and arranged?
Yeah, it was like this would always be the keys sound. The bass was always going to be a [Yamaha] CS-50 [synthesizer] through a shitty Peavey guitar amp. It all just happened. On the Lorde album, for instance, "Man of the Year," that song was just a bass chord loop I made there in the room with Ella, and she sang some melodies over it. From there, none of that stuck. We replayed the bass for a better bass sound, we built on a ton of synths, and added some drum chops.
The words are guiding you, how to reinforce behind them?
Yeah. The lyrics came later for her on that, and then that steered us where we were going sonically. The demo was these seeds we planted, and then it all grew around it.
Was it a vocal melody, such as wordless ideas or "dummy" words?
Exactly. That song "Man of the Year," was actually really funny. This was in November of 2023. We were in the studio at my old house. She said, "I want to do something that's just bass and minimal chord info," and we did that. Then she freestyled, sang over it, whatever came out of her naturally. What I do in songwriting often is getting people putting down a scratch of what comes freely and not trying to say, "Here's the song." Just letting it happen. Then I'll cut that up in the box and think, "Maybe this would be cool here. Maybe this is a pre-melody. Maybe this is good for the second half of the chorus." She and I started doing that, and we got on a roll. Then, funnily enough, the power went out in the whole neighborhood, and we were on my laptop on laptop speakers, arranging the melody.
On the batteries?
Yeah! So, it can be that basic, how a song is written and comes together.
That's cool. I saw something you said, "The computer is where it comes together." That's your instrument, so to speak.
That's where things start for me so often.
I mean, so many people think a songwriting collaboration is where you go over to someone's house, one of you sits at the piano or the guitar, and then you bounce words around, like that movie Music and Lyrics.
And it can be that way. For me, personally, the computer is always this capture device. It's this thing you dump ideas into. Often, I'll pick a BPM, put on a click, play piano chords, and we'll have something going in the computer that's cycling. Then we'll record something over that – add a little drum this, a little synth that. It's the home where everything lives.
I always think that, in production, you have to have something to either spark hate or love, or to play against. It's that myth of writer's block, that you're sitting there with a pen or a typewriter and waiting for the first word. But if there's something there to be mad at, it'll push you forward.
It's true. Even with the computer, sometimes the limitation of it – when I'm thinking, "Oh, I'm going to write an idea at my kitchen table on a laptop" – that limitation can spark a cool idea, maybe more so than being in an amazing studio with all the gear I could ever want.
Well, ideas are more important than gear, that's for sure. So, you come from San Francisco?
Yeah.
And what was your early music like?
Early on, I had this innate draw to music. I know you must have had this yourself; some kids are out and about playing sports and riding bikes. I did some of that, but there was this draw I had to music. I couldn't believe what it did. My parents had ten CDs, like Sade or Sting. It wasn't even, "Here's [The Beatles'] Abbey Road." I didn't have that at all. As a young kid, I was drawn to music. It did something I couldn't verbalize. From there, for years I begged for a drum set. My mom finally gave in when I was 11. I got into Led Zeppelin, AC/DC, and fun music to drum along to. I was in a cover band throughout middle school playing that! I had this drum teacher when I was in seventh or eighth grade and he said, "If you want to level up your playing, try playing jazz." He was a jazz drummer in San Francisco, gigging around the Bay Area. He started bringing in some of the most basic charts, like [Miles Davis's] "So What." I started to see some of these jazz drummers, like Jack DeJohnette, and a wall broke down for me. This was another level. The better I got at playing jazz, my rock chops got ten times better. He was right. In high school, I got in our school's advanced jazz band as a freshman. I was playing with the juniors and seniors and trying to keep up. Jazz band was where I found other kids like me, who had this draw [to music]. That was my first encounter with the "heads": The kids who were into music, and would dig for music, be it jazz or, in the Bay Area at the time, garage rock, like Ty Segall and the Oh Sees [Tape Op #117].
Super fun music.
Yeah. That was where I found my people. Then I played in another jazz band outside of school, and I played in a garage rock band with some of my friends from jazz band. But then I had a moment; I wanted this other avenue, but I didn't even know how to articulate that. I heard Daft Punk's Homework, J Dilla's Donuts, and Burial's Untrue. I heard this music, and I was like, "Wait, what?" I couldn't wrap my head around only one or two people making these albums. I was thinking, "I don't understand. It's not a band? That's not a singer? What is a sample?" I was into a lot of hip-hop at the time too. That's when I learned about being a producer. I realized, "Oh, you can make an album that's just you." It could speak to what you're feeling. That's how I learned what producing was. I started messing around with Ableton [Live] on a friend's laptop, making ideas. I found this outlet of, "I can express my ideas my own way. I don't need other people's approval." I could keep going further.
Do you think being a drummer was helpful for understanding how to put beats together?
I learned, again – through the jazz band path – that if the drummer's not holding it down, you're fucked. I was aware of that responsibility. It goes beyond having drums in the track, but also to how important rhythm is. Even if there are no drums, rhythm is what holds it down. That was always at the core of what I was making; the drums were at the center of the song or beat. This fundamental, primal, non-melodic, "feel it" thing.
When did you first start getting your own music out in public, in any way?
Oh, man. I would have been maybe a junior in high school, putting it on Myspace. Funnily enough, I found some of my high school band's demos that I recorded and produced on SoundCloud the other day. They have 39 listens. [laughter] I would have been 17 or 18, sharing that side of me, outside of the band and the exclusively live zone.
Were you creating that music and still playing out with people?
Yeah. Going through the end of high school, there was no way I was going to stop playing in the school jazz band. That's where my friends were, and where my community was. When I moved out of home at 18 to go to college, drums are not like a guitar. You can't just throw it on your back and bring it somewhere. But I did have a laptop for school, and so that became my new instrument. It wasn't even a conscious decision. I was making beats and electronic music in my dorm room. And through that I got into DJing. I was finding similar music to what I was making online – SoundCloud was going off then. I got further into electronic music. But then I hit a point where I was thinking, "This is not fun doing this alone." DJing was fun, but my musical interest had been broader, then got more concentrated into electronic music. There were records coming out at the time, like [Kanye West's] Yeezus, that were a bridge between this niche and broader mainstream music. I saw producers who are artists, such as Arca or Evian Christ, contributing to that. I had some friends in L.A. who were connected to a couple of songwriters and producers. I went down to L.A. and the first person I worked with – we made a beat, and it was amazing – was Dan Nigro. That was day one. I met him and Ariel Rechtshaid [Tape Op #111]. I was thinking, "There's a world here. This is fun. I like this music, and they're not making it alone." It was at that point where I thought, "This is what I want to do."
Finding people like Dan and Ariel that are doing production, co-writing, and collaborating pointed you in a direction.
Totally. Having different backgrounds and skillsets, and seeing how they would come together. I remember this first beat Dan and I made. I did most of the drums and he did most of the chords. We could make something bigger and weightier that hit harder by combining each other's skills. But, at that point, I don't think I'd even worked with a singer yet. I was probably 23.
And then what happened?
I moved to L.A., and my creative group and hub was Ariel's world, but other little avenues too. Charli XCX [Charlotte Emma Aitchison] heard my music early on and invited me to try and produce a demo with A.G. Cook and I way back in the day. I produced a demo for her. There were all these little avenues and pockets where I would cross paths with people. Sometimes, it'd be another producer, or it'd be a singer like Charli or Empress Of [Lorely Rodriguez]. I was flying blind. I'd go in there, make sounds and beats on my computer, this person would sing, and we would just do it. I didn't know any other way. Dan and I did a few sessions together, and I learned the flow from him. At that point he'd written a lot of Sky Ferreira music that is so fucking amazing. He was always very inviting, and I learned so much from him.
Did you have to learn how to record people too? Record a vocalist, at least?
Yeah. Ariel was super generous with me and would always loan me his studio. All I knew at that point there was this computer; there's a piano there with some mics up on it, and a mic to sing into. Every time getting in there, I remember thinking, "Wait, I can't hear the mic." He'd say, "Turn on the rack, and then make sure the [Universal Audio] 1176 [compressor] is on." If the signal was somewhat clean, that's all I was listening for. It came from a pure place of "get the idea down." I had no knowledge of gear. I didn't have the space to. It was, "I've got six hours in here with someone. We're going to get a fucking song made." The piano sound is what it is; the vocal sound is what it is. There was just one bass that's left-handed, because it's Ariel. We'd have to flip it over.
I recorded simply when I first started. But then you start thinking, "Why is the mixing so hard? I should have tracked it with more intent."
That was the thing I learned from making music on my computer: I can't bend something to be anything. I would learn that in layering kick drums or synth sounds. They are either going to feel pretty good together or they're not. I remember making a synth pad, or something that would layer together, and I would have to EQ the hell out of it. I would start compressing, and it would never quite fit. Either these two sounds can work well together, or they don't. On some level, I shouldn't need any plug-ins. If the raw materials work well together, that's all I need. So, some of that came into the actual recording. It's like, "This [Roland] JUNO [synthesizer] sits right under this upright piano." They just go together.
We have to make those mistakes to learn to get there.
Absolutely. But it never works trying to cram the peg through the square hole, or whatever it is! As a mixer, there's nothing I can do to make their DNA match up all of a sudden.
With a lot of these records you've done, they're going out to mixers. I've talked to people in all sorts of mixing capacities, and some sessions come in with a lot of tracks burnt into stone. Some sessions come in with all the plug-ins and everything still there. How do you deliver mixes?
It depends. With Justin's record, we took it pretty damn far in the production. Ian Gold, my engineer – who's incredible, a godsend – he and I spent a lot of time. We'd be out at April Base [Studios] in Wisconsin, and we'd finish whatever we're doing for the day around seven p.m. We'd have dinner, maybe go for a walk or something like that, and wind down. But usually, Ian and I would pop back in the studio, do some massaging, and get it sitting right. When it came time to mix that album, a lot of the sounds were there. Ian was good about putting tracks in routing folders in Pro Tools. "Here are all of our strings. Here are all of our keys that are doing the chords." Then that component would be solid. Justin was so amazing. He would say, "Everything should have eight components." So, when it came time to mix, we were committing those whole groups into a track.
Wow. Taking a folder, bouncing that down, and committing it?
Yeah. Maybe it wouldn't end up eight, but we would get pretty close. Vocals were the one thing we left intact. We would send the Pro Tools session, but we would leave the plug-ins on the vocals. Whether it was David Wrench, [Mark] "Spike" [Stent], or Shawn Everett [Tape Op #133] – we wanted to give them as much room as they needed with the vocal for making it sit right within the music. But we had done a lot. We'd found the sound we wanted prior to the mix, and they realized it. But with the Lorde album, that was different. My main DAW is [Apple] Logic; that's what I have always made projects in. We would get things pretty damn close – basically finished – and then I would move it into Pro Tools. Similarly, all instrument plug-ins would be committed, but on Ella's vocals I would leave plug-ins on. Whether it was Tom Elmhirst or Spike Stent, they could have the room necessary to treat her vocal and make it sit with the music in the best way. Sometimes I've done sessions where we feel so good about the sound of it that drums are a track, bass is a track, guitars are a track, vocals are a track, and that's it. All it needs is a little touch of EQ and some bus compression. But I will say, one where we left a lot more flexibility – and I'm glad we did – was on the Bon Iver record with the song "From." Shawn Everett's mix of that absolutely blew my mind when I heard it. We finished that song later, and Ian and I didn't have the time for getting it into this world. But the song was done. What are we going to do, tinker for months? We sent it to Shawn and said, "Make it sound like a band." What he sent back was so right. He took it from an awesome, almost-there demo to something alive. I still text him once a month to say, "Dude, that mix changed everything."
He's so fucking unafraid. It's hard as a mixer. You always have to be asking yourself, “What are the boundaries they want me to respect?” I hear this from a lot of people: Send tracks to Shawn and you'll get something new back.
I knew that with this song we didn't need it to get ten percent better, or more open or whatever. That's why I was thinking, "Shawn's got to do it. He has to go for it." But I don't want that with every song; it depends.
With both these records, especially Bon Iver, there are a lot of mixers. Did you send songs to different people to see what they did? Or was it selective?
We felt it out, really. I mean, the first people we sent songs to were mainly Spike Stent and David Wrench, who are both incredible. I think we could just tell. One song that needed more aggression and needed to be more in your face was "Day One," and that was obviously a Spike song.
You felt he would bring something?
Yeah, I knew he would push it. It needed more juice than we had given it. There were other ones, like "If Only I Could Wait," where we got it pretty far, but it needed to be more itself. With David, I don't know what he does over there, but he opened it up where it felt it could breathe. We could feel the emotion of the full thing. Parts felt separate but still together. There's a little bit more of a fluidity; something that David brought to the mix that was absolutely crucial. With different mixers, it's knowing what someone does and knowing what we need. Beyond that, I can say that with Spike, he and I have such a great relationship we've formed over the years. I know he's going to go all out on anything I'm sending over regardless – whether he's trying stuff out or we're on revision number 20. David and Spike are such committed mixers. They want to make the best fucking mix possible.
Unafraid, in a different way.
Yeah. There were probably weird things we had done in the production where Spike or David (though I can't speak for them) were thinking, "This is insane. I don't know what they're asking me to do." But they go with it and bless them for doing so.
Do you send notes or do phone or Zoom calls?
It depends. With David and I, it would usually be pretty straightforward notes and whatnot. He and I would talk through the songs: The energy I thought they needed and what I thought they were missing. We'd get it back, sit with it, and maybe compare it to where it was. Then it would be pretty basic notes; "This feels too distant. Can we bring this more in your face?" Or, "The kick should actually hit above the sub bass." Spike and I, we've worked a lot together over the years and he and I always get on Audiomovers [streaming app] and do this in real time. With Shawn, it was different because I said, "Fucking go for it." But he and I talked about it some. Pretty soon he got it in the spot that blew my fucking mind. From there, it was feedback like, "Okay, the rim is too loud." We'd zero it in from there. But Shawn had to go and do his thing, and he crushed it.
The Aminé record [13 Months of Sunshine] is running in a different vein. There's such a cool smoothness to the tones. They invite you into the words. Did you take this sonic approach starting out?
No. There was a first song we did for that album, before we knew the album was starting. We were just having fun. I admired what he was doing before. I didn't know him, and I wanted to work with him. I thought he was doing something cool and different. He, Buddy Ross, and I worked one day and made the song "I Think It's You." It was what came naturally, and it hit something personal in Aminé, where he felt, "Oh, this is the start of something." This was probably 2021 or so. But yeah, there were certain tones we were gravitating towards, just from the people who are in the room. A lot of the drum sound I bring can be live, chopped drums layered with samples. Buddy Ross – who's one of the most incredible producers, keyboard players, and synth wranglers – a lot of his tones have this dirt, but they're also very warm. All of that sat together quite naturally. David Nakaji, who mixed that, did a great job of giving it all a bit more oomph, but without making it hurt or anything. He pulled it together beautifully.
Aminé is one of Portland's best exports! Listening to these three records, I keep hearing the artist is so focused; the vocal and the feelings are focused. I assume that's something you constantly have your eye on?
Yeah. And I have to say it comes about pretty naturally. It's important to me that the flow we get into is one where the artist feels they can say the thing lyrically that they may be uncomfortable saying. That's so important. They have to be able to get that thing off their chest. Whether it's Justin, Ella, or Aminé, when they put down that lyric that feels a little scary – "Oh, can I go here?" – they feel they can do it. Maybe on a [Shure] SM7 [microphone], right up front. It doesn't need to be doubled, it doesn't need to be panned, and it doesn't need to be washed out – they can do it right there. It's not like I'm going in saying, "We've got to mute all these other vocal takes." It comes about naturally, through my process with people; people who are pretty comfortable being themselves, unadorned, on a record. Again, I think about a song like Bon Iver's "If Only I Could Wait," where that's just Justin on an SM7, and we didn't even think that should be doubled. There is a harmony later, but it never crossed anyone's minds, even though he's always had a real layered approach. I don't even think he was thinking about it. It felt so natural, bright, and real. It never crossed our minds to say, "Okay, now let's produce out the vocal and get on the Sony C37 [microphone]," or whatever.
Let it be.
Yeah. Another thing with that record is we set up what we called a "mic army." It was seven mics all up, going through a basic chain, usually of a [Neve] 1073 [preamp/EQ] to a [Universal Audio] 1176 [compressor] or [Tube-Tech] CL 1B [compressor]. Justin would sing the song on each mic, and we would arrive at a mic where we were, "Yep, that's it," if it sat in the song perfectly. There was no, "Okay, we're using the [Neumann] U 67 on the whole record." It was just whatever was natural, and where he could perform. He's such an incredible singer – do his thing, and leave it at that. It didn't need a bunch of layering or a bunch of in the box stuff. Just what was natural. On "There's a Rhythm," one of the last songs on the record, that's an AEA R44 [ribbon microphone]. He stepped up on that and it was like, boom, it sat in there perfect. It could be just that vocal because it was right. We didn't need to touch the EQ or anything.
And that's so telling, because when we talk about recording equipment, people are always like, "What's the best mic?" And you're saying, "But, for that situation…"
It's important to remember there are no rules with that. Lorde is a pop star who has the number one album everywhere right now, and there are parts on that where the vocal is recorded with the speakers on in the room because that's what was real to the recording.
And part of our job is to make sure that that doesn't get undone.
It's hard sometimes, because people who are into making music, like you and I, and learning about it, we are thinking, "So and so did it this way. That's such a cool way to do it. That's the way you do it." I will always have to check myself: Don't redo something for the sake of redoing it. My biggest takeaway in making so much music the past couple of years is there's no right way of doing it. I'll know if it feels right, or if it doesn't.
You've mentioned making a safe place where the feelings can come out. Have you ever had opposite situations?
There have been times where I've been in the studio with artists where I can tell the session is about the producer or writer getting their idea off: Signed, sealed, and delivered. Like the artist is just a vessel for them. There are some people who make hit records that way that change the game. But for me, that's not how I make music. No judgment, but that's not the environment I want to be in. I'm a believer that great art is made by people feeling a freedom to do their thing. If you're an artist, and you feel you're doing a song on someone else's terms, that song is probably not going to speak to your intuition. As an artist, what you're sharing is your intuition. It goes even beyond the artist. I try to make sure the engineer can do their thing too. Such as Ian Gold, on the Bon Iver record, and how amazing he was. It was important that he felt comfortable in that if he had a crazy idea, we could do it. I want an environment where people feel they can try their ideas, even if they might be bad, because we have to be able to do that.
